


The Universe Is Not Enough

by trinityofone



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Canada, Humor, M/M, Spies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-17
Updated: 2006-02-17
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinityofone/pseuds/trinityofone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deadly-calm, deadly-serious: “I’m a spy,” Rodney said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Universe Is Not Enough

Rodney’s hand was firm and insistent on John’s arm as he pulled him into the shower. “Um,” John said. “Rodney. It’s not that I’m not flattered, but—”

“Shut up,” Rodney growled, and with surprising force, shoved him against the shower’s back wall. He turned on the water, the spray hot and intense, soaking them both instantly. “McKay!” John sputtered. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I said _shut up_ ,” Rodney said. There was an edge to his voice that John had never heard before, and the look in his eyes... John sucked in a breath. He wasn’t afraid of Rodney. He _wasn’t_.

“Rodney...” he tried, droplets sliding slick and uncomfortable under his collar. “Rodney, listen...”

“No, _you_ listen,” Rodney said. “Listen close. I want you to forget everything I’ve ever said to you and concentrate on what I’m telling you now. It’s the truth. For the first time, it’s the truth.”

That seemed rather melodramatic, even for Rodney. “What?” John said, baffled. Or maybe not so much: “Look, I understand that in close working conditions, feelings can—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Rodney said. “Can you get it through your thick skull that for once, this isn’t about someone trying to nail your alarmingly flat ass?”

John opened his mouth to protest, but Rodney clamped a hand over his lips. Once again John was impressed by the force and precision of his movements. But not frightened. Not...

“I’m not who you think I am,” Rodney said. “I’m not _what_ you think I am.”

Shock. Disbelief. Then a myriad of possibilities flashing through John’s head, each more ludicrous than the last. He was somewhere in the vicinity of _alien-robot-clone-assassin!_ when Rodney said, deadly-calm, deadly-serious: “I’m a spy.”

“A spy?” If John’s voice sounded high-pitched, it was merely a result of the shower’s poor acoustics. “Like, for the Russians?”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Please. One stay in Siberia and everyone starts seeing Kremlin gremlins everywhere. Only in Patrushev’s wildest dreams does the FSB have anything like the resources, equipment, or training backing me.”

“Who...” John sputtered against the torrent of water. He was beginning to sense that it would not be an easy thing to break away from McKay—if that really was his name—and he didn’t particularly want to put that theory to the test. Yet. “Who _do_ you work for?”

Rodney blinked at him—the precursor to his oh-so-familiar _Why am I plagued by idiots?_ look. The ordinariness of it hit John like a knife to the gut. He thought he’d known—but no. He didn’t know anything.

“You really don’t know?” Rodney said. Then he shook his head. “Of _course_ you don’t know. I am that good, after all.” He gave John a pitying look, but did not loosen his grip. “Canada, of course.”

“Canada?” John rasped, suddenly back to thinking that this was a really elaborate practical joke. “You’re a spy for _Canada_?”

Rodney smiled. It was not the smile of a mild-mannered—er, of a loud, obnoxious, cowardly, brilliant and surprisingly likeable civilian astrophysicist. This smile was the kind Ian Fleming had written about. It worried John that he might have attributed it more to the villains than to the heroes.

“But...but why would Canada need spies? It’s one of our _allies_ ,” John insisted. “It—you haven’t even fully broken ties with _Britain_ , you’re hardly a major player in international politics, your army is like, three mounties and a _wolf_...”

“Ah, but that’s just what we _want_ you to think,” Rodney said.

Of course it was. “Of course it is,” John said, sighing. He sank back against the cool tile, letting the water sluice down between him and the man he had—that he had thought was his friend. “Why are you even telling me this?” he asked. “Are you giving me the final courtesy of truth, before you, what? _Eliminate_ me?”

Even through the curtain of water, John could see a genuine look of horror cross Rodney’s face. “No. No!” He fisted John’s shirt in his hands. “I need your _help_.”

John flicked a strand of wet hair out of his eyes. “I am not spying for Canada,” he said, decisively.

Rodney scoffed. “Obviously not; that takes decades of training. No,” he said, coaxing John into a somewhat more distinguished position, “ _you_ are going to help me defeat Canada’s evil plan.”

John said, “Huh?”

“Don’t you get it?” Rodney said, gesturing dramatically. “I’m switching sides! I’m sick of it! Sick of this life of danger, lies, cheap sex, and other fatiguing facets of espionage!” His fingers returned to John’s shoulders, gripping tightly. “I’ve come to believe in what you and Elizabeth are doing! I want to help! _We_ want to!”

“We?” said John—which, at the very least, was a slightly more coherent question than his last one. Especially since he was still hung up on the “cheap sex” comment.

“Yes, my loyal assistant and myself.”

“Loyal assistant?”

“Is there an echo in here?” Rodney asked. Actually, since it was a shower, there was. “Sergeant Campbell.”

“Oh,” John said, relieved. He had been worried that it was Zelenka.

Freed from that anxiety, his mind backtracked. “Wait, Canada’s got an evil plan? Involving Atlantis?” He managed to bite back the additional query of, _And what do you mean, cheap sex?_ “But this is an international expedition!”

Rodney raised a finger. “Exactly. And Canada has been slowly but surely plotting to take over the world for more than fifty years. When the SGC’s activities were first uncovered, that objective was expanded to include the Milky Way Galaxy. And once the Lost City of the Ancients was discovered, it became my top secret assignment to ensure that when the plan finally goes into action, we’ll snap up Pegasus as well.”

And just like that, John was back to thinking that Rodney was concussed. Or possibly possessed.

“You don’t believe me,” Rodney said, studying his features carefully. “Hmph. Well, I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you, won’t I?”

Before John could assure him that that was really not necessary and suggest a nice visit to Beckett and Heightmeyer (or maybe to Father Gleeson, the resident priest), Rodney had secured his grip on John’s arm and started doing something funny to his watch. “Campbell,” he said into its face, “meet me down in the vault.”

John was about to gently remind Rodney that his earpiece was, you know, in his _ear_ , when a sharp, “Yes, sir!” chirruped with perfect clarity out of what John had always thought was the button to make the watch light up real pretty. “I don’t think my watch does that,” he said, as Rodney smiled the smile out of Fleming’s darkest dreams.

“No,” he said, reaching behind John and shutting off the water. He did something to the showerhead, a strange twist-turn-pull. Then in the space of a breath, Rodney’s bathroom vanished from around them, and they were someplace else.

Furthermore, their clothes were completely dry.

“I don’t think my shower does that, either,” John said, blinking. He looked around: they were in a vast, cavernous room, one that, in spite of its size, was still crammed with lab equipment and—he began to drool a little—exotic weaponry. “Where are we?”

“We’re still in Atlantis,” Rodney said, walking over to one of the tables. “This is part of the underwater section. It’s been very carefully sealed-off and shielded. No one knows how to access it but Campbell and myself.”

“But...” John ran his fingers over a device that looked startlingly like a real-life Goblin Glider. “...How can you possibly keep an operation this size a secret?”

“I know this city better than anyone,” Rodney said simply, and until now, that had always been a reassuring thought, not a frightening one. “Besides, who would suspect? I mean, look at me.”

John looked, watching as right before his eyes, all the disturbing changes of the last thirty minutes vanished like a bad dream. Rodney’s shoulders slumped, his body sagging as if its center of balance had been abruptly lowered. The steel left his eyes, so that what remained was still smug, but nowhere near so self-assured, so confident. This Rodney—his Rodney—knew fear. The one with whom he’d spent the last half an hour knew none.

“Jesus,” John said, the difference newly startling. He backed away, wishing for his sidearm. He’d taken it off so easily when Rodney had asked. All he’d had to do was ask. “I...I don’t know you at all, do I?” he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I don’t know the least thing about you. How can you expect me to trust you?”

“You’re right,” Rodney said, shoulders straightening, body elongating—putting the mask back on or taking it off, John was no longer sure which. “You don’t know me.” He stepped forward. “But I know _you_ , John. I trust _you_ , above everyone else. With this—” He gestured around the room. “With _this_.” He laid a hand on his chest. “With my life.”

John was still not convinced. Rodney met his wary look head on, and this time his grin was much less No, and much more Bond. “It’s as valuable to me as it ever was,” he said. “I didn’t lie about that.”

John swallowed. He didn’t step any closer, but he nodded. “So what’s the plan?” he asked. “I assume you have a plan.”

“Of course,” Rodney said. “I’m just waiting for Chuck to get here and then I can tell you everything.”

“Oh, I think you’ve already said more than enough.”

John and Rodney both emitted shocked gasps as the gateroom technician-cum-spy emerged from the shadows, pointing a sleek silver weapon at them, but at least they had the decency to looked shamed about it immediately afterward. “Campbell,” Rodney said, eyes narrowing instead of widening in shock, which was still startlingly new to John. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you think _you’re_ doing, McKay?” Campbell spat. The weapon was levelled squarely at Rodney now. “How could you even _think_ of betraying our home and native land?”

“Canada has betrayed itself,” Rodney said. “This whole thing has gone too far! We used to have manners, principles, universal health care; now we have petty schemes for intergalactic domination! What have we become? We’re practically,” he shuddered, “American!”

“Hey!” said John.

“Shut up!” snapped Chuck. “I’m sorry, that was rude,” he added a moment later. His weapon never wavered.

“And _you_ ,” he told Rodney. “Don’t try to pretend that this ‘change of heart’ is motivated by true patriot love! You just didn’t like the new addendum to your assignment!”

Rodney hadn’t mentioned anything about that. “ _What_ addendum?” John demanded, suspicious.

Chuck smirked. “Left that out, did he? Convenient.” The look he shot John was equal parts contempt and pity. “His new assignment was to seduce Atlantis’ military commander.”

John’s brain began experiencing technical difficulties. “You mean Colonel Caldwell? Ew.”

Rodney sighed. “No, John. _You_.”

John blinked. “Me?”

“Yes,” said Rodney, angrily. “You.”

“Ha!” said John, triumphant. “So this actually _is_ all about someone trying to nail my alarmingly flat ass!” Then, “Wait a second! Are you telling me that my ass is so ‘alarmingly’ unappealing to you that you’d rather betray your country than attempt to seduce it? Me. Not that he’d be able to anyway,” John told Chuck, confidentially.

Chuck looked very confused.

Rodney folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll have you know that I could have had you _begging_ for it any time I wanted!”

“No, you couldn’t,” John said.

“Yes, I could!”

“No, you couldn’t!”

“Yes, I could! I am trained in the art of seduction! Allow me to dem—”

“Don’t move!” Campbell said. He was clear on that part, at least. “Nobody moves, or I’ll vaporize you both!”

Campbell’s gun looked kind of like a silver-plated banana; “Can he really do that?” John asked.

“Yes,” Rodney said.

“Cool.”

“I could easily help you get your hands on far more destructive weaponry,” Rodney said silkily.

John’s vision went a little cloudy. “Really?”

“No. But it’s just like I said: I could have you naked with your ankles above your head in ten minutes flat.”

John started to lick his lips, caught himself, and quickly turned the expression into a pout. “Could not,” he said.

“Could too!”

“Could _not!_ ”

“Could _too!_ ”

“Then why didn’t you?” Campbell snapped, before the conversation’s level of sophistication deteriorated any further. “You’ve seduced countless people before. The Peruvian cultural attaché. The Mother Superior of the convent in Compiègne. The Prime Minister of Belgium. What makes Colonel Sheppard any different?”

Rodney opened his mouth to make a brilliant and cutting point. Unfortunately, what came out seemed limited to, “Um.”

“You used to be a true Canadian!” Campbell cried, his eyes moist. “You stood on guard! Your moral compass pointed True North! And all your country asked of you was that you seduce one insignificant—sorry, that was rude—one single Air Force Colonel! With glowing heart you could have seen him rise, but instead you’re willing to throw it all away—all our work, _everything_! And for what?” A single tear trailed, crystalline, down his cheek. “For _what_?”

Rodney still didn’t say anything. John stared at him, trying to distinguish traces of the man he had thought he had known in this other, new person. Maybe that was what was so disturbing: it wasn’t very hard at all.

“For what, Rodney?” John asked softly. Almost afraid of the answer: “For what?”

Rodney sighed. “Okay, so maybe I had just the teensy tiniest little crush on you.” He held his fingers a minimal distance apart to show precisely how teensy tiny his feelings were. “I mean, just a little. Enough to make me feel...unprofessional.”

“Enough to make you feel guilty, you mean,” John said.

“Yes,” Rodney admitted. “Because while even a slightly unprofessional job by me is startling in its excellence, I didn’t...” He coughed. “I didn’t want to do sub-par work.”

Oddly, John found this to be strangely flattering.

“I liked working with you,” Rodney continued. “I mean, sometimes it was tough keeping my mouth shut and playing the fool—the incident with the Genii and the depleted ZPM was just _painful_ —but mostly your tactical decisions were sound and you were a brave and competent leader...and I liked you. I like you.”

Now that was _definitely_ flattering.

“Wait,” said Chuck, his vaporizer wavering slightly. “You’re telling me that your real motive—your real reason for doing this—is _love_?”

Both John and Rodney looked scandalized.

“What?”

“No!”

“Did I say that?”

“You definitely did _not_ say that.”

“I _like_ him,” Rodney said, discreetly indicating John. “As in, I enjoy his company, kind of.”

“And maybe you’re a little hot for my really quite attractive ass,” John suggested.

“Maybe,” Rodney said. “But don’t push it.”

“So it’s not for love,” Chuck clarified.

“No!”

“Because love would have been an acceptable reason,” Campbell continued. He tightened his grip on the vaporizer. “Oh well.”

“No-not-love- _yet_ ,” Rodney amended quickly. “I mean, I haven’t even gotten to seduce him yet, so it’s a little early to tell.”

It probably should have been worrisome that this sounded entirely reasonable to John.

Chuck gave them both a thoughtful look. “So you’re saying that if I join you, I can advance the cause of love, protect Atlantis, and help return Canada to a time when it was not a nation of power-hungry megalomaniac superspies bent on intergalactic domination, but rather a peaceful land, glorious and free?”

“Yes,” Rodney promised.

Chuck’s eyes narrowed. “Can I also shirk my new assignment?”

“What was that?” John asked, even as Rodney nodded—and shuddered:

“Seducing Hermiod.”

Chuck handed Rodney the gun, and the two of them gave each other what was apparently a manly, Canadian superspy slap on the back. John shook his head, disturbed. He’d travelled light-years to another galaxy, and yet all the really alien stuff, it seemed, originated back on Earth.

“Well, that was a ridiculous waste of our time and resources, but I’m glad it’s settled,” Rodney said. “Now.” He moved closer to John, smile rich—almost decadent. Letting his hand ghost lightly over John’s arm, “Just wait ‘til you see our spyplane,” he whispered.

John shivered. Somewhere, a clock began racing backward toward zero: nine minutes, fifty-nine seconds, and counting.

John couldn’t wait.


End file.
